Bittersweet

You see the signs. They're everywhere, appearing again and again, urging you towards your destiny. They're there...giving you the answers you need, but they're not the answers you want. So you choose to disregard them and follow the dictates of your heart, knowing all the while that you've walked a similar path before...and that it hasn't ended in roses and rainbows. Quite the contrary. You've been left with ashes and smoke, and the acrid taste of salt in your mouth.

But you surge forward anyway, venturing one reckless step after the other, until you're running from all that is familiar and safe and limiting, and hurling yourself into the black abyss of the unknown.

Maybe this is why we chase shadows, slipping in and out of fractured dreams. Because the future isn't set in stone. And no matter how broken the road or how defeated the spirit, we know we can change the pattern of our stars, aligning them the way we want.

And in doing so, giving shape to our own fate.

Almost

you and I,

         always almost.

again

   and again.

          never nothing

          never something

  but never again.

(From the poem 'Almost' by DK)
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An Empty Land

I walk into the familiar coffee shop, where the table by the window had belonged to me and my friends, each weekend, long ago. I order the same, for old times' sake, and we sit in silence, my coffee and I.

I look around, unseeing, as the years melt and fall away. I'm that effervescent girl once more and my friends are here with me, squeezing in around the table, engaged in noisy banter. We talk, we dream, we build castles in the air...

And in that fleeting moment, nothing has changed.

I blink, and the magic is gone. The coffee shop looks a little worse for wear now, the music that emanates from the speakers is not the same and the view from the window looks jaded. My friends are long gone, scattered across the miles, separated by distances and priorities, and the castles we built in the air are now lives rooted in routine and responsibility...

Everything has changed.

I pay for the coffee, swing my bag over my shoulder and get up to leave.

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The Ties that Bind

My little boy rings the doorbell when he returns from school, and then rushes to hide. It's an elaborate game we've played for as long as I can remember. I open the door, call out his name and pretend to look for him in all of two possible places near the staircase, only to act surprised when he jumps out from his secret spot with a loud 'Boo!'

Somehow, the game never grows old. He walks in triumphantly, having scared his mum, and then settles down on my lap for his customary cuddle while proceeding to tell me all about his day at school. I love listening to his stories, love being welcomed into a part of his life that I really have no control over.

And even as I'm listening to his enthusiastic tales, a dark corner of my mind is already wistful thinking about the time he'll outgrow this need for childish games, for a hug, and for the banter that we indulge in. A time when I will no longer be his best friend, but an annoying parent who is too old to understand. I wonder about the friends he will have, the ones who will become his world, and hope they will be as devoted and encouraging as the friends I had...the ones who I still do. 

He pauses in his narration, frowns and asks why I'm not paying attention to him. Of course, I'm listening, I insist, so that he's assured and carries on with details of games class and his awesomeness at playing ball. But how can I assure him that he is the centre of my universe, now and always? That I possibly couldn't love anyone more than I love him, and that while he has become my greatest weakness, he is also my strongest reason for living.

I think he senses some of this, though, with trusting childish insight, but he'll forget when he's older, a teenager maybe. And later, when my arms can no longer circle protectively around his frame - because that wouldn't be cool - I'll shield him with prayer instead, and hope, that one day he'll remember these ordinary, golden times, and understand.

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The Night Watch - A song that I've loved since I was a kid. 

The Little Big Things in Life

I unlock the front door and enter my home. I'm immediately assailed by the loud, yet immensely pleasing strains of Pink Floyd's High Hopes. It's one of my favourite songs, and since I'm the only one in the house who likes listening to music at such over-the-top decibels, I'm kind of surprised.

It can't be the kid playing it. I know he's out. The husband? I could safely assume he'd prefer Bach, soft and mellow. Or, considering he's home alone, some smooth jazz numbers that I'm not exactly crazy about.

I walk in, kick off my shoes and carelessly toss aside the bag I've carried home from my parents' place, where I've been visiting with my grandmother. I've spent most of my time there these past few weeks, keeping her company when Mum and Dad have been at work.

I look around for my guy. I find him in the balcony, meticulously clipping his nails, when he senses my presence and turns. I raise my eyebrows. He laughs, because he understands why.

"It feels like you're home, when Pink Floyd's blaring," he discloses. '"I've missed you."

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And of course, a song. This one's for him.